


based on achoo story

by sktserotonin



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Food Metaphors, Implied/Referenced Death in Childbirth, M/M, Single Parent - AU, Unnecessary Pining, a lot of flashbacks and recalled memories, channeling meteorite speech sakusa, miya atsumu is responsible and good with children, no beta we die like daichi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:09:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29549811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sktserotonin/pseuds/sktserotonin
Summary: Out of all the monster generation men's V-league players, the last one you'd expect to be a single father of a 1 year old girl at 23 would be Kiyoomi Sakusa. Ask anyone.Or Kiyoomi is a single dad, Atsumu helps out more than he should and only asks for Kiyoomi's daughter to learn to say his name.feat. sakuatsu as clowns.SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021 | Day 6 | Single Parent AU
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 148
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	based on achoo story

Out of all the monster generation men's V-league players, the last one you'd expect to be a single father of a 1 year old girl at 23 would be Kiyoomi Sakusa. Ask anyone.

Even Motoya Komori ascended into the heavens when he was asked to be godfather. Having the most experience with Sakusa's sense of humor, he'd said "haha, good one Kiyoomi." Only to be shocked to his core when Kiyoomi's then-girlfriend of 2 years, Ayame, had revealed her clearly pregnant belly.

Motoya hadn't thought the relationship was that serious despite its longevity. He was of the firm belief that Kiyoomi still wasn't over his high school sweetheart, first everything, boyfriend for 4 years, and ex-boyfriend for 3 years, Atsumu Miya.

And he was right.

Though at the time, Kiyoomi _was_ happy in his relationship. He and Ayame weren't exactly ready for marriage and a baby carriage, but they were both willing to keep the baby and see how it goes.

Kiyoomi was characteristically willing to see it all through and uncharacteristically thrilled by the concept.

No one would expect Sakusa Kiyoomi - wary of germs, hateful of crowds, reluctant to accept gifts from fans - to be excited at the prospect of having his own non-stop burping, farting, pooping, and peeing machine.

But then, no one really ever understood his character.

Kiyoomi was an unexpected, but willing candidate for fatherhood. It was a tragedy that Ayame died shortly after childbirth. The baby girl, however, was a healthy 3 kg and 30 cm, with a thick tuft of curly hair from her father and a pair of round, light brown eyes from her mother. Her name, too, was one of the last things Ayame could give her daughter directly.

Maeko Sakusa.

Kiyoomi was left to raise her alone. He could’ve allowed Maeko to be raised by his more than willing retired mother, the majority of the volleyball world certainly expected him to. They were all surprised once again when he announced that he would be taking a temporary leave from volleyball and by extension, from the MSBY Black Jackals. 

“Just until Maeko can walk and talk and stand on her own.” he’d told his team “She needs me.” _And i need her,_ is what he hadn’t said out loud.

And so Coach Foster had told him to take all the time he needed, jersey number 15 would be waiting for him on the Jackals and at the Olympics.

He’d joined the team fresh out of college, immediately a starter on their already amazing lineup. A year and change had passed, but he already considered them family. Sure, it had been a little weird at first glance to choose to join the team his ex was a significant member of, it wasn’t like anyone could ignore the new hair and improved attitude of first string setter Atsumu Miya. But contrary to popular belief, they had ended on mild terms and each moved on to their own relationships. In fact, Atsumu was the one he trusted the most on the team.

Even before Kiyoomi began his paternity leave, everyone in this new found family had something to contribute, steadily building up over time.  
  
Shuugo Meian shared some tips and old baby stuff; a baby bottle sterilizer, diaper brand recommendations.

Coach Foster gave him a video camera and a dslr and told him to capture everything.

Oliver Barnes built a crib with his own two hands.

Adriah Tomas gifted an outrageous variety of plushies including, but not limited to Pokémon, and V-league team mascots.

Shion Inunaki panicked (but with style), gifting high end fashion that was suitable for toddlers and therefore unusable for a year or two.

Kotaro Bokuto thoughtfully lent Kiyoomi a few books on raising children and was always the first person Kiyoomi called whenever he had concerns and questions. Bokuto and his partner, Keiji, had married young and had long been planning for surrogacy or adoption, they were only waiting for Keiji to get a promotion to a less stressful position, and for after Bokuto’s 2nd go at the Olympics.

Shoyo Hinata, in direct spite of Kiyoomi’s first impression of him, had paid for the baby’s first vaccination and constantly sent reminders for flu shots, articles on local outbreaks, and worrying weather updates, even after moving back to Brazil.

And Atsumu Miya, he was Kiyoomi’s peace of mind.

Maeko was born a few weeks before the next season started so when Kiyoomi left, the team had been too busy with training to adjust to his absence. But every weekend or on a precious day off, Atsumu would visit the Sakusas and take a few handfuls of the weight off Kiyoomi’s back. Even for just a few minutes or so.  
  
In the beginning, Atsumu always brought someone else along when he visited; an MSBY or Inarizaki teammate, his boyfriend, or whichever fellow monster generation V-league player/rival he’d run into who hadn’t seen Kiyoomi in a while. He’d often schedule to come with Motoya. And whenever he dragged Osamu along, the Miya twins filled Kiyoomi’s home with entertainment and company for a few hours and his fridge with rice balls for days. But Atsumu eventually dropped the pretense of bringing other people along and visited the Sakusas of his own volition.

Kiyoomi managed well on his own, but Atsumu’s visits were the only breaks he got from being a responsible adult. 

Sometimes they wouldn’t even speak, Atsumu would just take Maeko in his arms and push Kiyoomi into his bedroom to sleep until Atsumu had to leave. Sometimes Maeko would sleep through the entirety of Atsumu’s visit. Kiyoomi, wanting to stay updated on volleyball, would play the latest games on mute and the two adults would attempt to keep their volume and enthusiasm for the sport down, communicating in facial expressions and wild gestures.

And every time Atsumu came around he would help to clean up. Kiyoomi ran a tight ship, he’d been organized and cleanliness centered before the baby, but every now and then he’d forget to fill up the hand sanitizer dispenser in the genkan. Or he hadn’t had the time to bleach the bathroom and kitchen tiles. Atsumu would do these things without being asked, or even without Kiyoomi’s knowledge. He was a constant throughout the entire year and the only thing he outwardly seemed to request in return was for Maeko to learn to recognize and say his name before anyone else on the team.

She was now over a year old and Kiyoomi was getting back into shape and into training so he could rejoin the team for the next season and the Olympics. So the team was babysitting in pairs, in shifts, a few days a week. Atsumu was the only one familiar enough with Maeko to babysit without a pair so he was taking the opportunity to teach (read: bribe) Maeko to pronounce anything akin to a semblance of his name.

“Say tsumu” he said repeatedly as he spoon-fed her some miso soup. She closed her mouth around the spoon, swallowed half of it and dribbled the rest down to the bib resting on her chest before granting him a four-toothed smile.

“Say mumu” he tried, using a shortened variation of his name, as he handed her plushie after plushie which she pointed to in sequence, hugged, then let go of to attend to the next.

She could already say Omi at this point and ‘Otou’ both addressed to Kiyoomi, so it’s not like Atsumu was being unreasonable and trying to claim her first word. She could manage a handful of words and assign them to their respective objects like ‘foo’ for food, and ‘Ma-ko’ in reference to herself. She was _this_ close to remembering and recognizing ‘Bo’ for Bokuto.

Atsumu was beginning to get desperate.

He hadn’t been there when she’d first said ‘Omi’, and he was pretty sure the achievement could be credited to himself and the brilliant nickname he’d come up with and used fairly exclusively. But he _had_ been there for everything else. 

He was there when she learned to point at Kiyoomi and say ‘Omi’ when she wanted her dad or wanted to be carried. Atsumu had footage of the moment which he immortalized on social media, but kept the unedited version for himself which had Kiyoomi burying his face in his daughter’s neck as she patted his curls.

He was there when she raised her arms and yelled ‘foo!’ when they’d brought out the cake at her 1st birthday party. When she said ‘Achoo!’ with dramatic effect and silently demanded him to pretend to sneeze. And every time that she said ‘mama’ when she spotted one of the many pictures of Ayame that Kiyoomi kept lying around the house.

‘Say miya’ he tried in desperation, resorting to his least favorite variation of his own name, as he sat on the chair beside her bed with the latest bedtime story in his lap. Kiyoomi had taken to Bokuto’s advice of reading her to sleep every night and as practice was running late and it was nearing her bedtime, Atsumu had felt the need to tuck her in and take up the chore. He’d only just opened the book and tried to bribe her into speaking with the bookmark which she’d zeroed in on and was making grabby hands towards.

“Say miya” he tried again, she was standing in the crib pointing and grabbing at the bookmark. 

“Mama” she said instead and Atsumu paused to see that the bookmark was indeed another set of photos of her late mother. It had a different picture on each side, but Kiyoomi must use it often enough for Maeko to recognize it. Laminated with rounded edges, thick and kinda weighty for a pair of photos, Atsumu deemed it wasn’t that fragile and could stand to be in the grip of an unwary baby.  
  
Maeko had a really great grip and nimble fingers for a 1 year old; she could already pick individual raisins from her bowl, and hold a mini volleyball with just one hand. She could almost coordinate two chopsticks before getting bored and using them as drumsticks. Everyone had given their suggestions on what sport or hobby to get her into when she grew up, someone had gifted her a rubik's cube, though of course the majority suggested volleyball.

Atsumu let her hold the bookmark and began reading where he assumed Kiyoomi must have left off. He went all out with tone, expressions and sound effects and tried to picture Kiyoomi doing it. She seemed attentive enough, but after a while began to fidget with the bookmark saying “mama” over and over again.

“Achoo.” she said out of nowhere, and Atsumu responded by dramatically faking a sneeze, as she’d conditioned him to do. She laughed and said it again, louder “Achoo!”

So he faked another louder and more dramatic sneeze and pretended to fall to the floor as well for a more award-winning performance. Because of his dumb antics he didn’t see when Maeko prised the plastic apart and held it like a book just her size in front of her face. 

“Achoo.” she said again, and he got up intending to fake another sneeze when he saw the open bookmark. His first thought was panic, had she torn it apart? Should he pry it out of her hands to save it? Kiyoomi always advised against that, she would cry and would learn to be rude. He would have to ask for it politely and hope she wouldn’t damage it beyond repair before she gave it back.

“What’s that you got there?” he started gently.

“Achoo.” Maeko said again before pursing her lips and pressing a loud ‘mwah’ to the inner part of the opened bookmark. She was adorable. It almost made up for the damage in property, but if Atsumu couldn’t salvage this before Kiyoomi came home, he’d be toast.

“May I see what ya got there, Maeko-chan?” he said in his gentlest tone, oozing politeness and enthusiasm as he held out his hand. She pressed another kiss with an audible ‘mwah’ onto the bookmark and hugged it to her chest briefly before closing it and handing it to him.

‘Huh,’ he thought, ‘guess it’s not ruined after all.’

He examined the ‘repaired’ bookmark with new curiosity. It had seemed to snap back into place. 

‘Must be magnetic’ he thought. Now knowing what to look for, he quickly found a pair of cut-out tabs where he could place his thumbs and push the two pages apart. ‘Cool’ he thought before the contents registered and short-circuited his brain.

The bookmark was the size of a polaroid, a thickness of two stacked credit cards. Like two laminated photos taped together back-to-back. One side was fused together somehow, acting as a book spine. The side opposite had the tabs for opening. Inside, the area underneath the tabs were lined with thin magnetic strips which held the pages together and kept the bookmark closed. It was practically a mini photo album with 2 photos back-to-back in each plastic page. You could close it on either side so a different pair of photos could act as the cover. Atsumu had only ever seen the bookmark in passing, Ayame’s pair of photos as its cover. The photos on the inside were of a completely different subject. 

The photo on the left was a snapshot of a day long gone, but one Atsumu remembered clear as the sky in the summer. 

It was from 6 years ago, when Atsumu was still 2nd string and pushing himself to improve, to be deserving of that 1st string setter position. And Kiyoomi was beginning to blaze a trail through college volleyball, but struggling with college chemistry. 

They practiced Atsumu’s serves at the university gym until security told them to clear out. They’d only listened because Atsumu was a guest hanging out after hours and technically trespassing. For dinner they stopped by Osamu’s dorm for free food he’d made during his culinary class. They’d taken their time strolling on the sidewalks, whispering secrets in the gaps of darkness between each streetlight and the next, laughs echoing into the great beyond, drunk on moonlight on the way to Kiyoomi’s dorm.

And when they got there Atsumu had settled into bed as Kiyoomi set up his desk to study. Those organic compounds weren’t going to name themselves. Kiyoomi had tossed Atsumu his flashcards and they’d played a strip quiz game, Kiyoomi removing an article of clothing for every mistake, which later evolved into kisses for every mistake. They eventually realized this made for a terrible incentive for success and Atsumu put a stop to it by tossing Kiyoomi his clothes and burying himself under the covers. Kiyoomi could only get dressed and return to his desk to continue studying into the night.

Early in the morning, as the sun was rising and casting the room in a dim glow, Atsumu woke first to find Kiyoomi slumped over his textbook. Atsumu had recently developed an interest in photography, courtesy of Rintarou Suna, and so he had a vintage polaroid camera ready to freeze the moment in time.

He draped himself over his boyfriend’s back and stacked his head on top of Kiyoomi’s which was pressed sideways to the open pages of the book. 

Their hair had been messy and unstyled. Atsumu’s was still piss-colored, and Kiyoomi’s was still frizzing all over the place. They hadn’t yet discovered the true wonders of purple toner, sulfate-free shampoo, and curling custard.

They’d exchanged high school hoodies for fun and had worn them to sleep. Kiyoomi in maroon that blanched his pale face even more, and Atsumu in the horrid neon yellow and green gradient. Kiyoomi had a pimple on his cheek and Atsumu’s face was mussed and creased from the bedsheets. But still, Atsumu lay his head on top of Kiyoomi’s, positioned the camera in front of them with one hand, and gave a wide, cheesy, closed-eyed smile as he clicked the capture button.

Kiyoomi was already stirring from having his 70 kg boyfriend press his body into the desk and his face onto the page, when he heard the click he jolted upright throwing Atsumu off him. Still tired, but aware enough to know what had happened, he scrambled after Atsumu who was trying to stay out of reach as the picture printed and dried. He cackled with glee upon seeing the product. It was way too early for this.

In his distracted state, Kiyoomi was able to snatch the photo out of Atsumu’s hands and moved to the window to examine it in the sunlight. They looked hideous. Unkempt and exhausted from the practice, walking around all night, and studying. Atsumu smushing him into the textbook hadn’t helped at all, his expression was almost a grimace and his pimple was angry and red.

“We look so stupid. You’ve got a cowlick.” He’d said to Atsumu, attempting to appeal to his boyfriend’s vanity.

“Who gives a shit Omi, no one’s gonna see it. Give it back, I wanna keep it.”

“No one’s going to see it because I’m going to burn it the first chance I get.”

Atsumu only snickered. “Ya can’t burn every picture I take Omi-Omi, someday I’ll make copies before ya can burn it.”

“Then maybe I’ll just take your camera.” he threatened without malice, but Atsumu still yelped and dashed to other side of the room prompting a leisurely chase which escalated to a pillow fight, which escalated to running down the hallways of the dormitory at ass o’clock in the morning, which escalated to hiding together in a storage closet from the dormitory supervisor. Panting and struggling to stay quiet and out of trouble, the photo that started it all was forgotten in the chaos.

Atsumu hadn’t really believed that Kiyoomi burned any of their pictures. Kiyoomi had even given some of them back to him whenever he found them over the years, but seeing this one brought back the memories of that morning and the night before. Looking at it now, his chest ached. Why had Kiyoomi kept this after 6 years? Why was he keeping it in a bookmark by his bedside? And why was his daughter pretending to sneeze at it and kissing it and hugging it to her chest like it was a familiar action done every night?

He shook his head and passed his eyes to the photo on the other side. This one was more recent, though the circumstances of its capture were a mystery to him. 

His hair was messy, ruffled, likely by the little hand grasping his left cheek and staining it a chocolate brown. Atsumu was carrying Maeko in this photo, Atsumu’s head and a portion of the baby’s body within the limits of the frame. They were both smiling with glee despite the chocolate mess. Though it still wasn’t enough information to narrow down the situation.

Atsumu had been over many times. And Maeko had had chocolate _too_ many times. It could've been from Christmas, or New Year’s, or her birthday, or even Atsumu’s birthday. It was difficult to tell, but honestly, the _when_ wasn’t the problem here.

The question making Atsumu’s heart hollow in his chest as it pounded and pushed his blood to his brain and limbs was why? What did it mean? And how was he supposed to bring this up later?

“Achoo!” Maeko said again as she stood in the crib, leaning over the edge a little to press her tiny hand into Atsumu’s face. He stared into her little face, into her clear brown eyes as if she could give him all the answers. She was looking right back at him.

 _Oh,_ he finally realized, _Atsu_.

What the fuck!?!? The Sakusas were going to be the death of him.

He gathered Maeko for a hug, dropping the bookmark onto the crib as she wrapped her tiny arms around his neck and pressed kisses wherever she could reach, mumbling all the while, “Achoo.”

Atsumu felt like an idiot. She couldn’t say the letter ‘S’ yet. Baby lisps were common knowledge, _of course_ she hadn’t been pretending to sneeze. With Kiyoomi’s aversion to germs and sickness, it really wasn’t something he would teach her for fun. And if Atsumu thought about it, he couldn’t recall her doing the sneeze routine with anyone but him. And if Atsumu really thought about it, he could recall the day they’d first created the routine.

It was a few days before her 1st birthday party. Atsumu had gone over after practice, buying ramen along the way. They’d finished dinner and Kiyoomi was doing the dishes while Atsumu and Maeko sat at the kotatsu playing with some of her toys; a doctor’s set, courtesy of Kiyoomi’s parents, with a plastic stethoscope and needle-less hypodermic needle.

She had the stethoscope around her neck and was going through practiced motions of placing the disk on Atsumu’s chest and limbs, searching for a heartbeat. All of a sudden, she’d pressed the disk to his face and said loudly and clearly, “Achoo.”

The sound of running water coming from the kitchen had halted. In the context of the toys they were playing with, Atsumu had faked his first overdramatic, enunciated sneeze and pretended to be sick. And after a while, the running water resumed.

Unbeknownst to Atsumu, that day had been a turning point for Kiyoomi. He’d recently come to terms with the fact that he’d never stopped loving Atsumu, and every day, every hour, every single second Atsumu spent coming over, helping him out, and looking after Maeko brought him one step closer to admitting it all out loud. Despite the fact that Atsumu was in a relationship with someone else.

That day, Maeko had finally said Atsumu’s name out loud in his presence, Kiyoomi had been practicing with her every night with the bookmark just so he could see the smile that would light up Atsumu’s face when he finally heard it. And then, Atsumu had brushed past it and chosen to take it as a joke about sneezing. Kiyoomi didn’t know what to think.

There was a very high possibility that Atsumu really was _that_ dense. Kiyoomi should know after being acquainted for 9 years. But there was also the possibility that it didn’t cross Atsumu’s mind that Kiyoomi would teach her to say his name like _that_. Because he really had moved on and forgotten and considered their relationship 100% platonic. 

And then there was the maximum angst-fueled possibility that Atsumu had ignored it on purpose. He’d put away his goddamn pride and superiority over Maeko learning to say his name because he didn’t _want_ to acknowledge it _or_ what it might mean. Maybe he had already seen through Kiyoomi’s feelings. The way Kiyoomi’s eyes sparkled whenever Atsumu came over, whenever he saw Atsumu with Maeko, whenever they sat down to watch volleyball on mute, with light instrumentals playing in the background.

Maybe he knew all this and turned the name into something else to spare Kiyoomi’s feelings, after all, Atsumu was taken.

It was half-way out in the open. Like schrodinger's cat, Kiyoomi wouldn't know for sure unless he opened the box. He decided to leave it closed. The first two options could be solved by a confession and had the potential to become something more or to return to normal. But the third option meant someone was going to get hurt, or something was going to change. And Kiyoomi was not ready to even theoretically see Atsumu pull away again. To be distant but familiar teammates. For less frequent visits.

Call him a coward, but he didn’t want to lose Atsumu again. To lose those moments when Atsumu cradled Maeko to sleep, singing so softly as if he never meant for Kiyoomi to hear. Those moments when they were having dinner and Maeko made a mess again and Atsumu reached for the wipes with familiarity and gently cleaned up both father and daughter. Those moments when Atsumu stayed a little too late, wanting to catch up after Kiyoomi put Maeko to sleep, only to fall asleep on Kiyoomi’s couch before they could talk.  
  
Those stolen moments that they both knew were crossing every line of friendship and entering dangerous territory, but neither was willing to admit. Because Atsumu was happy. There was never any indication that could lead Kiyoomi to believe that Atsumu wanted out of his current relationship or more from Kiyoomi. And though it stung his chest and pained his heart, Kiyoomi was satisfied.

At least Atsumu was in his life, in Maeko’s life. At least they were on the same team and in the same city. The occasional sting of ‘you’re not mine anymore’ and the ache of the urge to reach out and touch were infinitely better than the emptiness of Atsumu’s absence. This was better than nothing. This could be enough for Kiyoomi. 

So that day, and every day after, Kiyoomi kept his mouth shut about wanting Atsumu back. About wanting to make Atsumu a part of his world again. A part of his family. Until a few moments ago, when Maeko had a moment of childhood rebellion and did the exact opposite. Something grateful must be said about the innocence and honesty of children.

Returning to the present, Atsumu stared at Maeko in disbelief. She looked so much like Kiyoomi, save for her mother’s eyes. Whereas Kiyoomi’s were dark brown mysterious caverns that gave nothing away, Maeko’s were a pure and clear brown, open and honest. She was Kiyoomi without the mask, without the secrets. She bared his truths, his heart for all the world to see.

“Love you.” Atsumu said to Maeko, rubbing their noses together. She giggled then started to yawn. “I love him too.” Atsumu whispered to himself as she lay her head on his shoulder and he swayed and sang her to sleep. Once her eyes were closed, Atsumu lowered Maeko gently into her crib. He sat in the chair beside her crib, thinking. He recalled the first time he’d visited after she was born.

The whole team had planned to go over on a day off from practice, but Atsumu had arrived ahead of schedule. Arriving much earlier than the rest of the team, he caught Kiyoomi off guard and unprepared, a little bit of a disaster held together with patchwork. But Kiyoomi had let him in and let him hold Maeko for the first time. 

While Astumu held his daughter, Kiyoomi pulled himself together and cleaned up his entire apartment. The disaster was undone, needs for the following days were prepared and Kiyoomi even had time for a shower and a quick nap. When the team arrived, Kiyoomi was dressed and refreshed and Atsumu saw first hand how much of a help he could be.

Atsumu hadn’t planned to spend so much time coming over and intruding in the Sakusas’ lives, but he wasn’t one to exhibit restraint. He came over whenever he felt like it. Whenever he was bored and had nothing else to do. Whenever he thought Kiyoomi could use a break. Whenever he just felt like seeing Kiyoomi’s soft unguarded expressions, a stark contrast to the days when surgical masks covered up Kiyoomi’s smiles and laughter.

Atsumu hadn’t planned to spend almost every day he wasn’t at practice in someone else’s home. But he saw the precipice coming in every soft smile Kiyoomi directed at Maeko. Caught sight of the view over the edge whenever Kiyoomi sighed softly, tightening his hold as she slept in his arms. Bathed in the twilight of the rising sun on the horizon when Kiyoomi entrusted Maeko to Atsumu’s arms for a hug and a kiss and a thank you for coming.

Before he knew it he was falling back into an old and familiar love. One that had morphed just a little with the time and maturity and the new addition. And the velocity of his fall was terrifying as it was thrilling. Now that he knew it was reciprocated, he had to _do_ something about it.

When he heard the muffled sounds of the front door opening and Kiyoomi’s return, he carefully set up the baby monitor and quietly left the bedroom.

“I’m home,” Kiyoomi said when he spotted Atsumu. He looked freshly showered, his curls still wet despite the travel time, but as was his habit he immediately washed his hands at the kitchen sink. “She eat well?” he asked casually, focused on his task.

“Yeah, I put her down like 30 minutes ago.”

“Did you eat? I’ll go change first and we can have dinner.” Kiyoomi was putting his things away and already moving toward the bedroom.

“Yeah, ok, I’ll set up the table.” Atsumu offered, a little slow on the reply, as Kiyoomi disappeared behind the door. Atsumu ran both hands through his hair and tugged at his roots. 

_What the hell._

He’d spaced out staring at Kiyoomi, seeing him in a new light after his discovery. It was just now occurring to him how utterly domestic they were despite not being together. The way Kiyoomi had said ‘I’m home’ still reverberated in his ears. He _had_ to bring up the bookmark tonight or the anticipation was going to eat him alive.

He shook himself out of his daze and set up the dinner table. Kiyoomi came out of the bedroom in his pajamas and set up the television to play the latest MSBY practice match, volume muted. They settled down to watch and eat in a silence broken only by the occasional comment. The tension in the room was thick to the point of breaking, even to Kiyoomi who had no awareness of Atsumu’s change in perspective.

Atsumu had been trying to sneak glances at Kiyoomi for the past half-hour, but was failing miserably. He’d been openly and unconsciously staring at Kiyoomi, without blinking, for several minutes. Kiyoomi was getting concerned.

“You done, Atsumu?”

“Huh?” Atsumu replied, mesmerized and slow to react.  
  
“I’ll do the dishes.” Kiyoomi sighed as he gathered them up and made for the kitchen, leaving Atsumu at the table, clearly still in the middle of processing something.

When Atsumu came to his senses he shot up from his seat at the table and followed Kiyoomi to lean against the counter. He watched for a bit as Kiyoomi pulled on his yellow rubber gloves and began rinsing.

“Any problems with Maeko tonight?” Kiyoomi broke the silence.

“Nah, she’s perfect as always.”

Kiyoomi hummed in response. “So what are you thinking? What could possibly have you spacing out even though there’s a volleyball match in front of you?”

Atsumu rolled his eyes at the jab. “I tried ta read Maeko to sleep tonight.”

“Did she ignore you the entire time?” Kiyoomi chuckled. “I keep telling you not to do the sound effects. She needs a neutral tone to fall asleep to and it’s more important that she hears your voice _after_ she falls asleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, interesting bookmark ya got there.” Atsumu retaliated. Kiyoomi froze and Atsumu immediately regretted making light of the situation. This was not going as planned, but he wasn’t going to renege on what he’d started. “You said you hated that picture.”

Kiyoomi shrugged and tried to play it all off like it was nothing, resuming his dishwashing. “I’ve had that bookmark since we were together. Couldn’t be bothered to remove the old picture, I just put in Ayame’s photos and turned it inside out.”

“Uh huh?” Atsumu said doubtfully, “It’s also interesting how ya forgot ta mention that she can already say my name. I won the bet.”

Kiyoomi turned the tap closed and shifted his body a little to face Atsumu on his right. The three options were running circles through his mind, but if Atsumu was going to blow up about this he wasn’t going to back down. 

“It’s not my fault you didn’t realize what she was saying. As if _I_ would teach her to joke about sickness.”

“Don’t turn this around on me.” Atsumu whisper-shouted, emotions high, but still aware of the open door to the bedroom and the sleeping girl within. “That other picture was taken _this_ year, Omi. And ya keep it on yer bedside table every night.” He was gesturing and pointing wildly now. “Ya let yer daughter stare at it and kiss it and hug it before she goes to bed, just like she does with her mother’s. What’s a guy supposed ta think?”

“You’re her best friend, Atsumu.” Kiyoomi said as he turned back to the sink, still trying (and failing) to brush off any romantic interpretations. “You’re always coming over, it’s only right that she learns your name first over anyone on the team.”

“What about Toya-kun?”

“Motoya is a gremlin and a menace who should never be allowed to have too much power.”

“Okay, yer not wrong there.” Astumu grinned then decided to stop beating around the bush, his voice softening. “But why’d ya teach her to call me _that_ . No one calls me that. Even you don’t call me that... anymore.”

A beat of silence.

“Not to your face.” Kiyoomi finally answered. His head was slightly lowered but he wasn’t doing the dishes anymore, just staring at the soapy water and the bubbles on his too bright yellow gloves.

Astumu was trying to get a glimpse of Kiyoomi’s expression, too long, dark curls blocking it from view. “Why don’t ya?” Atsumu asked, “say it to my face.” he demanded gently.

Irritated, Kiyoomi turned his head to face Atsumu, hair swinging with the swift motion, a slight crease in his forehead. “You know why.”

“I _really_ don’t.”

“Are you really gonna make me say it when nothing can come of it?” Kiyoomi frustrated, flung his hands up and out of the water, not caring where the water droplets and suds landed. “I still love you, okay?”

Atsumu was stunned into a rare moment of silence, allowing Kiyoomi to continue his whisper-shouted confession.

“I don’t think I ever stopped, to be honest. I don’t even know why I ever let go of you. Even after Ayame and I got together you were still in the back of my mind. I somehow convinced myself that I was ok with being just friends because at least I could still talk to you. I could still be in your circle. Hell, it’s why I joined the Jackals. Everyone was right, the Adler’s were the most logical choice. I could finally be on the same team as Wakatoshi and they’re based in Tokyo, too. But I just _had_ to come to Osaka. Because you were here, and I missed you.”

Kiyoomi was standing in front of Atsumu, he’d given up on avoiding Atsumu’s eyes and gazed directly into his soul.

“Even though we were both in different relationships just being around you again was enough for me. Playing on the same team for once. Having sets tailor-made just the way I like them. God, I never took those for granted. And seeing you smile after every win. I told myself it was just that, the winning and the volleyball. But it was you, too. You and the Jackals gave me the best year of my life.”

“Then Maeko happened and we lost Ayame. I didn’t really know what I was doing those first few weeks. Everyone was trying to help out, but raising a newborn baby alone is _hard_. When you showed up and held her in your arms, I suddenly felt like I could do this. I didn’t know how to name the feeling, but it started when you held her. And it grew every time you came over.”

“That second photo you were talking about, it’s from a week after my birthday, when Maeko was 5 months old. You were feeding her leftover birthday cake and you both were making a mess of everything. But you were the only things holding me together. That was when I knew what that growing feeling was. It was completeness. Like the missing cog in the works was finally in place. I finally registered what my heart had been telling me. You belong with us Atsu. You belong with me and Maeko.”

“But you were in a relationship and you were happy. I couldn’t just ask you to come back to me. And I couldn't back you into a corner or make you feel like you had to choose. Because if you didn't choose me, if you didn’t choose _us_ , then we’d both lose you. And I’d rather suffer in silence then have to lose you again. So I shut my mouth about my feelings until you felt like stroking your ego again.”

Kiyoomi ended his speech, breathing hard, still staring into Atsumu’s eyes just a few inches away. Atsumu cleared his throat before beginning.

“March, huh?”

Kiyoomi looked at him quizzically.

“The picture, yer big realization was in March? The week after yer birthday?” Atsumu asked as he stepped away from the counter, closing the gap between himself and Kiyoomi.

“Yeah, so? What does the timing have to do with it?” Kiyoomi was pissed at this odd response to his long-winded confession. He crossed his arms in front of his chest to stop Atsumu from coming any closer. A familiar fox-like grin, a shadow of their high school days, the start of their relationship, was blooming on Atsumu's face.

“Omi-kun, we both know that when it comes to volleyball, timing is everything. Didn’t ya know that I’ve been single since March? The day after yer birthday actually, something about it being weird to spend an intimate birthday dinner with yer single ex and his daughter.” He said this last part completely nonchalant, like he was commenting on the weather.

Kiyoomi unfolded his arms, dipped his still-gloved hand in the sudsy dishwater and splashed Atsumu in retaliation. “I have been suffering for _months_. You never looked like you were going through a break up!”

Atsumu could only shield himself with the hand towel he’d snatched off the counter. “That was kinda the point of the breakup. They knew I was happier spending time with you and Maeko than with them.”

Kiyoomi halted his soapy assault, but he still glared at Atsumu as he said, “You still could’ve mentioned it at any time over the past 8 months.”

Atsumu huffed and tried to wipe himself dry. “I didn’t think this could go anywhere either. You were supposed to be grieving too. You lost Ayame.”

“But that’s not something anyone can change or fix. She would’ve wanted us to move on. To be happy.”

“So what, we were both suffering in silence for nothing?” it was a rhetorical question. They both knew the answer, so they both burst out laughing. The soundless kind of laugh that was mostly exasperation, but still stretched their cheeks, made their knees weak, and tugged at their stomachs.

“It’s more your fault than mine.” Kiyoomi exhaled through the outburst.

“Is this the one challenge yer willing to lose?” Atsumu’s grin was in full force as he caught Kiyoomi by his vibrant yellow gloves to pull him closer. The laughter died down to a tender moment. Kiyoomi’s left hand was on Atsumu’s waist, Atsumu’s right hand grasping it gently. Kiyoomi’s other hand was on Atsumu’s cheek, glove, soap, and all. Atsumu paid no mind to the damp and the rubber. His left hand had wound around Kiyoomi’s waist to slip into the back pocket of his sweats. Their bodies were flush against each other and Atsumu could feel the intake of breath Kiyoomi took before replying.

“I lost myself to you a long time ago.”

“Yer so fuckin’ cheesy-” Atsumu started before Kiyoomi shut him up with a kiss.

It was demanding at first. The way Kiyoomi tugged Atsumu’s head forward to silence his goddamn mouth. Fueled by the frustration of having wasted so much time, Atsumu’s tongue was relentless in its search for an opening. Kiyoomi’s hands moved of their own accord, cherishing the joy of finally being able to touch again. 

They were two starved individuals who’d sat in front of a feast, fasting for months only to realize there was nothing stopping them from eating in the first place. No terrors or punishments waiting for when they finally indulged. So they indulged. And like a buffet-goer becoming sated with every dish, they gradually slowed down to savor their dessert. There was no need to rush anymore, they had all the time in the world now. 

Kiyoomi’s lips were just as soft as Atsumu remembered. He could feel the smile against his own lips. He wanted to open his eyes, but if he kept them shut, he could live in this moment. In the way it felt to have Kiyoomi’s broad hands cupping his cheek and neck again. Rubbing comforting circles across his back and sides. In the way the air seemed to still around them so he could feel every breath, every sound from the back of Kiyoomi’s throat. In the way he could thread his fingers through Kiyoomi’s thick roots and curl his fingers just so, his blunt nails and the short tug eliciting a delicious moan he hadn’t heard in a _long_ time.

They were so caught up in each other that they only broke apart when the baby monitor began to crackle. 

“Ah, fuck.” Kiyoomi began, resting his forehead on Atsumu’s and trying to catch his breath. “You owed me this.”

“Omi!” Maeko’s voice sounded clear through the device and the open doorway of the bedroom.

“She’s calling for ya.” Atsumu said. “She knows yer home.” And he meant it in more ways than one.

“You need to change.” Kiyoomi ran his still-damp gloves over Atsumu’s chest one more time, to Atsumu’s indignation, before finally taking them off and placing them on the counter. “Stay the night?”

“I’ve got no reasons not to.” Atsumu answered with a smile, already moving to take off his soapy shirt as he followed Kiyoomi into the bedroom. And before they stepped in, that little voice that restarted it all and gave Atsumu a hundred more reasons _to_ stay called out again.

“Achoo!”

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a short twt thread, maximum of 20? tweets, but i am also a clown who /cannot/ be concise.
> 
> so here's 7k of fluff for the first fic i've ever shared. con crit is welcome, i know i ramble a lot, hope i don't regret saying that.
> 
> feel free to scream at me on [twt](https://twitter.com/sktserotonin) about sakuatsu as dilfs or as clowns i have no preference.
> 
> minor EDIT: 2/20/2021
> 
> i found out how to edit the links in these notes
> 
> please let me know if there is anything i should tag or add to the warnings and if there is anything that comes across as offensive


End file.
